Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.
"Oft expectation fails, and most oft where most it promises; and oft it hits where hope is coldest; and despair most sits." – William Shakespeare.
Great-grandpapa was nowhere to be seen. The man staring back at me was the mighty Earl of Swan, the facet of great-grandpapa I rarely got to see. There was no tenderness on his gaze just shrewdness, a man evaluating his opponent. For a long time he remained silent, his face a cold mask that betrayed no emotion. I fidgeted, twisted my hands on my lap, bit my lip; my future was at stake and I was afraid of hearing the verdict.
Finally, his shoulders relaxed and his eyes shinned with affection; great-grandpapa had returned. On his lips the smile that he always had whenever he was about to indulge me. Sagging with relief, I threw myself on his lap and hugged him, showering kisses on his face.
It wasn't exactly proper for a girl of my age to display affection so openly, but great-grandpapa never admonished me, secretly he relished all the adoration I directed at him.
"There now, young miss. Do not get too happy. I am not giving you leave to end the betrothal, I will be allowing you one season before it is fulfilled. If, by the end of the season, you find yourself an acceptable suitor willing to propose, you will have my permission to cry-off. Otherwise, you will be married to the Duke."
"But papa, I do not wish to be married at all. Please..."
"No point in arguing, dear child. I'm old and I'm dying and you will need someone to watch over you. The world is not genteel to spinsters. Besides you are the child of a Baron, you should be elated by the prospect of marrying a Duke. It is my final offer, what do you say, my sweet?"
A good strategist knows when to retreat, and a great strategist knows when defeat is inevitable. I smiled docilely and thanked great-grandpapa for the opportunity of enjoying a season. Sighing inwardly, I wondered if I should just accept my fate and endure a marriage of convenience.
A part of me wanted the dreams of love evoked by the torrid romances I was so fond of reading. She was the pampered girl within me, my public façade. Concealed by layers of self-protection, there was a little girl, so afraid of rejection that she wished to never take risks. To both of them the idea of marrying a coveted man was distressing, for the possibility of getting hurt was very real.
Lying to myself I refused to acknowledge what had truly happened on that street. My heart had accelerated and sweat gathered on the palms of my hands. A coil formed in my belly and my breasts felt different. It wasn't like the novels where the damsel always swoons upon meeting the hero. I was absolutely aware of everything, my senses heightened, and my body ready for something unknown to my naive mind.
Looking back I realize that I was afraid of the desire the mere sight of my betrothed had stirred deep within me, for somehow I knew he would never be truly mine.
See you tomorrow.